


The Witch’s Tale

by TheQueen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Shance Flower Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: Kuron searches for the truth. Lance is a witch who knows too much.A Shance Flower Exchange Story





	The Witch’s Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeeSheithGee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeeSheithGee/gifts).



The door jingles when he opens it, the rattle of bells on wood. The flooring protesting as he enters and lets the door slide shut behind him. It is a quiet shop. Small… Kuron would even go as far as to consider it cozy with it’s low hanging plants and wicker shelves. The room is dominated by a sofa and beyond that a desk and beyond that a man with curly brown hair and a daring smile.

“Welcome,” the man says and nods his head towards the sofa.

Kuron hesitates for a moment. His painfully empty wallet protests, but the sign outside had promised him a witch. The man in front of him did not seem like a witch. But that small elven girl who had cast him from the house when he’d first woken in had not seemed like a witch either until she had threatened to set his shoes on fire if he did not get. So he musters his courage and his desperation and steps past the threshold and into the room, careful not to topple the pots of white chrysanthemum by the door.

“He-Hello,” Kuron clears his voice and takes a seat, picks invisible lint off his plants as he waits for the man (the witch?) to put down his writing.

Finally the man turns his attention from the paper to Kuron and he is struck momentarily silent and still by the power of his gaze, the brilliance of magic blue eyes. “Welcome to my shop,” the witch smiles wicked white teeth.

Now that he is this close, Kuron can feel the shift in the air, the ripples of magic. “I-I have come seeking a witch.”

“I am a witch,” the man promises, “what have you come seeking?”

And here Kuron stumbles, his tongue stumbling on the truth because the truth is… “Everything,” Kuron mumbles and then repeats. “I come seeking everything.”

“Everything,” the witch is smiling again that same wicked smile and he taps one long nail against the wood of the desk in thought. “That is a might order to ask for. A steep price to pay.”

“I want to know the truth,” Kuron admits. Now that he has started he cannot stop. He tells his story, what little he knows of it. Of waking up on the floor of the elven girl’s home and the paths he has walked in search of his name and his past. “Kuron I give myself,” he says. “From the character of a story I read while waiting in the office of an Inn.”

“A man with no past that can read,” the witch taps his nail to the rhythm of his thoughts. “What a story you’ve given me.”

Kuron shrugs, helpless.

The witch stands. “My name is Lance,” he says as he walks to a bookshelf in the corner of the room and pulls out a great tome. “For your story have my name. For your truth… I will require something greater.”

“I…” and here is the danger of walking into a witches home. “I have nothing to offer.”

Lance returns to his eat with a book and a flask full of gold. “A boon,” he flips the book open and scans a line then looks up at Kuron. “A promise of service then.”

“What service would you need?” Kuron asks.

“When I do,” his eyes burn blue as he pushes the flask towards Kuron; the pull of magic rising in the air. “You will know.”

“That is it?” Kuron asks, reaching out a hand to take the flask and hesitating. “No signature? No contract?”

Lance smiles and behind Kuron the door opens. “We will remember your promise, Kuron. We will call you.”

Kuron swears a boon.

.

Two days later when Kuron and Lance part with Kuron carrying a bottle of ember, they part friendly strangers.

.

The door jingles when he opens it, the rattle of bells on wood. This time he does not hesitate by the doorway. He crosses the threshold as the floor protests, lets the door slam shut behind him, and yet steps ever so carefully around the pots of white chrysanthemum.

“Did you find your truth?” Lance asks without looking up from his writing, the steady scratch of ink and quill against paper.

“I have a brother,” Kuron says. “His name is Keith. He breathes fire when he is angry and plays the lute. His wife is the queen of Altea.”

“I know Keith,” Lance says, still writing. “I know Allura.”

Kuron takes a seat on the sofa. This time there is a cat. White as snow and when it opens its eyes, the same magic blue burns. “Do you know me?”

Lance smiles and Kuron finds this time, the flash of teeth less intimidating and more beautiful like the edge of a dagger. “What have you come seeking this time, Kuron?”

“The truth,” Kuron admits. “I know them but they do not know all. I disappeared once. Then I came back. Then I left.”

“You want to know where you went?” Lance asks.

Kuron nods and Lance looks thoughtful, tapping a finger against wood. Finally he sighs, “I will need time.”

“Can…” and there is danger in walking into a witch’s home without payment, “I stay here?”

Lance hums a delicate tune and stands with a flourish, “What shall I take this time? For your stay and for your gift?”

“A story?” Kuron offers, “For the stay, I can tell you my story.”

“You assume I want your story?” Lance mocks.

“You gave me a name for a mystery,” Kuron reminds him. “Let me give you an answer for a room.”

“It is not a complete answer,” Lance points out.

“It is not a long stay,” Kuron smiles, this time with his own flash of teeth.

Kuron finds the laugh of a witch far too pleasant for words.

.

Fifteen days and fifteen stories later when Kuron and Lance part, they part as friends.

.

The door jingles when he opens it, the rattle of bells on wood. This time he does not hesitate by the doorway. This time he is not careful. He crosses the threshold in a hurry as the floor protests, lets the door slam shut behind him, but still steps carefully around the pots of white chrysanthemum.

“I have a brother,” Kuron says before Lance can set down his pen, throwing himself onto the plush sofa he had spent his six days sleeping on. “His name is Takashi Shirogane and I do not know where he has gone.”

“Takashi Shirogane,” Lance the witch repeats carefully. His eyes are sparkling, a hidden mirth as if he knew a joke Kuron did not. But Kuron has come to learn and appreciate that there is much Lance knows that he does not. Lance is a free spirit and a magician. Lance is learned in arts that leave Kuron dizzy just thinking about it. “I know that name.”

Kuron smiles, the nervous itch under his skin dying down the longer he sits in Lance’s presence. In this shop, surrounded by the familiar feel of Lance’s soul dancing on his skin, he is safe. “I want to find him.”

“I suppose that would be the thing to do,” Lance sighs, reaching by his seat and placing a stone on the desk. “And what shall you give me this time?”

Kuron’s wallet is as empty as the day he entered this shop. His has promised a boon and his story and all he has left is clothes on his back and his soul. So instead he says, “I can give my time.”

“Your time?” Lance laughs as if Kuron has said something exceptionally funny. “Why should I want your time?”

Kuron smiles because he knows Lance, has learned his manners in the time he spent here. If he were offended, Kuron would be long gone. But instead Lance smiles. “I can stay for as long as you want. I can help here.”

“That is a dangerous thing to promise a witch,” Lance warns him.

“I trust you,” Kuron promises, learning closer. Eye’s never straying from Lance’s. The startling blue squinting at him in almost confusion. “I can give this to you.”

“You are a dangerous man, Kuron,” Lance sighs, tapping the stone rhythmically. “And what if I were to ask for your whole life?”

“You won’t,” Kuron promises. “I know you.”

Lance’s eyes flutter close as he takes a deep breath. Kuron watches him from the place by the sofa. The desk between them and yet he can feel Lance on his skin. “Very well,” Lance says finally. “Your time for a gift.”

Kuron feels no fear when the magic settles.

.

Thirty three days later when Kuron and Lance part, they part as something more.

.

The door jingles when he opens it, the rattle of bells on wood. This time he slam the door shut behind him, stomping across the protesting floor. This time he knocks the pot of white chrysanthemum onto the floor in his rage and hesitate only to avoid crushing the bloom.

“You knew!” Kuron roars, memories and magic tugging at his skin.

Lance stares unflinching. This time he is not safely behind his desk. This time he stands by the sofa, arms hung at his side, as Kuron stops in front of him. “I know you,” Lance admits.

“Why?” Kuron begs, reaching out as if to grab Lance before hesitating. His hands hanging uselessly in the air as Lance’s stay by his side. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You asked Pidge to make you forget,” Lance whispers, blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “And then you came to me asking me to make you remember.”

“So you sent me on a wild goose chase,” Kuron sobs, moving to wrap his arms around himself.

This time Lance reaches out to place delicate hands on his shoulder. “It is your story to learn, Kuron.”

“I am a changeling,” Kuron sobs, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder. “I am a monster.”

“You are a being,” Lance promises. “No more monstrous than me. No less human than me.”

“Shiro wanted nothing to do with me,” Kuron whispers.

Lance sighs drawing Kuron closer. “He needs time. He is a good man. He will see.”

For a moment they stand in silence. The dying sunlight streaming through the crack in the door, illuminating the fallen blooms. Finally, Kuron sniffles his last sniffle and pulls away. “Lance… I… may I ask you for one last thing?”

Lance nods slowly.

“What boon did you want?” Kuron asks, “When I came to you all those months ago? What would you have asked me for?”

“Nothing you would not freely give,” Lance promises whipping the pad of his thumb against Kuron’s cheek.

Kuron smiles a weak smile. “How… How well did you know me?”

Lance laughs a laugh far too pleasant for a witch. “How do you think?”

Kissing him feels like coming home.

.

Fifty nine years later when Kuron and Lance part, Shiro plants white chrysanthemum on their grave.

**Author's Note:**

> For: Gee-Lil-Shit on tumblr!  
> Prompt: White chrysanthemums
> 
> Wooo!! So my Shance Flower Exchange event is coming to a close. It was my first time running an exchange and it was harder and easier than I expected. I hope everyone who signed up had a good time and I hope everyone reading and viewing all the amazing Shance, Svance, and Kurance work coming from this event are enjoying themselves as well.
> 
> Link to the event: https://shanceflowerexchange.tumblr.com/  
> Link to my writing blog: https://thequeen117.tumblr.com/
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
